


Darling, Can't You See?

by alexthewizard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Drarry, Enemies to Lovers, Gay, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, mlm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-07-12 09:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexthewizard/pseuds/alexthewizard
Summary: -----WIP-----MUGGLE AUA slow burn fanfic about Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. They are both crushing on each other, but neither of them knows about the other's feelings.Draco Malfoy must keep up the appearance of hating Harry, as his friends and his father would be furious if they found out the truth.Harry Potter is just very confused. It doesn't make sense to him why he would be crushing on the boy who constantly bullies him. Even Hermione can't make sense of it.





	1. Why Me?

**Author's Note:**

> I can't figure out how to indent things, so for now, I apologize for the clunky look.
> 
> Also, most of the chapters are kinda short. Secondary apology.

~~~~~Draco~~~~~

“Why him?” Draco groaned aloud. “Why did it have to be him? Couldn’t it have been a girl, a girl who likes me, just a girl in general? Why on Earth is it him?” He flopped back onto his bed, his hands on his face as if trying to erase something. He sat up abruptly, dizzying himself a little. He muttered something about feelings being stupid, and reached for the television remote. The sound of the cable news lady on the TV echoed through the empty house, talking about mundane events and old people’s funerals. An empty house wasn’t rare for Draco; his parents were always at benefits and charity auctions, which they only went to so people wouldn’t think they were selfish. No one knew the secrets that went on behind the closed doors at the Malfoy house. Draco had the scars and assorted casts and braces to prove it. Irritated, he switched the TV off and reached for his phone, mindlessly scrolling through people’s photos and outdated memes, until he saw the one photo he actually cared about, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. It was a black and white photo of a dark, messy-haired boy wearing an oversized sweater, wrapped delicately in fairy lights, and although there was no color in the photo, Draco knew that the eyes behind those large, round glasses would shimmer like polished emeralds in the daylight and sparkle like forest moss in the moonlight. The caption underneath the photo read; “Darling, can’t you see? It’s you and me, meant to be.” Draco dropped his phone onto the floor, with no intention of ‘liking’ the photo, in an effort to keep up the appearance of hating that boy, that gorgeous dark-haired boy, that gorgeous Harry Potter. Unbeknownst to him, when he dropped it, his finger grazed the screen and ‘liked’ the photo. He rolled over on his bed, lying face down on his pillow. Sitting up, he hid his face into the pillow and let out a muffled scream.  
“Why the hell did it have to be me?”


	2. Scribbled Hearts

~~~~~Harry~~~~~

“Draco hates you, just drop it,” Hermione chided him as they walked the chilly downtown streets.  
“Mate, you never had a chance,” Ron joined in, stopping to wait for them a few strides ahead. “It must’ve been a mistake. Why else would he ‘like’ that photo with your oh-so-subtle caption that you posted specifically for him to see?”  
“It’s like Jay Gatsby hosting dozens of expensive parties with the sole intent of Daisy showing up,” Hermione said, only to be met with blank stares from the boys. “I- I mean.. whatever. Just get over it, he can’t stand you.”  
“Hermione, I’ve been trying to get over it. Ron, I’m sure it was a mistake, but I can’t help wondering if it wasn’t. And If I could choose to not like him, I would. But I can’t, because feelings are stupid,” Harry said, his hand idly rubbing his scar as they passed a jogger with a dog.  
“You’re stupid,” Ron quipped.  
“Well, if you were really trying, you wouldn’t have HP+DM scribbled in hearts all over the bottom of your shoes, now would you?” Hermione raised an eyebrow slyly. Harry pretended not to hear her as they passed the library, and Hermione was momentarily distracted.  
“Hold up, I’ve got to return a couple of books,” she said, pulling out seven impossibly large books from her backpack and slotting them into the outside return drop. “I wish the library was open on Sundays, I’ve got four more on hold.”  
“How did those even fit in there?” Ron asked. “Oh, do any of those have little hearts and doodles of two boys holding hands?”  
“Only a few, but they’re of you and Neville,” Hermione retorted.  
“Oh, bugger off, you two,” Harry groaned. “Let’s stop at the candy store. I want more Chocolate Frogs.”  
“Changing the subject, are we?” Ron cajoled.  
“Shut it!” Harry said, blushing.


	3. Monday Morning Algebra Blows

~~~~~Draco~~~~~

Monday morning algebra was always dull, but today it seemed as if time was actually moving backward. Draco’s rainy grey eyes tracked the red second hand of the clock as it went around, once, twice, three times. He broke away and gazed lazily across the classroom. His eyes caught on a pair of hunched shoulders, leading to a thin neck, a tousled mop of nearly black hair, and a slender arm doodling mildly on a jagged piece of paper, clearly torn from one of Hermione’s many notebooks, with a stubby yellow pencil. Draco watched that pencil swim across the page, sketching and shading and blending. Without realizing it, he had watched the pencil draw a small sketch of two people kissing, one dark-haired with glasses, one with uncolored hair and a sly smirk. From Draco’s position twenty feet away, that was all the detail he could make out. In his heart of hearts, he knew there was no way that it could be of who he thought it was. Why would the boy he constantly made fun of ever like him? Yet, he watched, and hoped, as Harry dug into his backpack for his colored pencils, and began adding color to the sketch. The eyes became forests at night and stormy silver skies, the skin became sifted cinnamon and moonlit ivory, the hair became rich chocolate and smooth champagne, the lips became rosy copper and pastel coral. A silky mist covered Draco as he fell mesmerized by the determined strokes, the picture it was creating, and the lovely boy behind it all. Something tugged at the back of his brain, and his gaze cleared and he realized he had been staring into the very pair of round green eyes he had been fantasizing about. He snapped out of his trance as he heard a faint voice calling his name. The voice grew louder as his awareness rose, and he realized the entire classroom was staring at him as the teacher demanded the answer to a question Draco hadn’t heard.  
“Draco? Care to take a guess?” Ms. Umbridge’s brash voice rang harshly in Draco’s ears. He frantically glanced at the whiteboard and saw an unlabeled dot graph with a decreasing slope, and two data points circled. His heart rate returned to normal as he leaned forward and smirked.  
“The two data points are outliers, as neither of them falls anywhere near the line of best fit. Since this graph represents a company’s yearly profit before they shut down, they most likely represent a lean year, with little to no profit,” he said confidently. “And although it may not have seemed like I was listening, I was hanging on to your every word, Ms. Umbridge. Truly, I was. Absolutely riveting,” he finished sarcastically as he reclined in his stiff black chair.


	4. Ouch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> At the end of this chapter, Draco punches Harry. It is after the line "Harry felt the color in his face rise."

~~~~~Harry~~~~~

Harry tried his best to ignore Ron’s incessant muttering about how this was all useless and how he “didn’t need to know how to read a bloody dot graph to run a joke shop”, but this task proved difficult. He glanced towards the teacher as she impatiently called Draco’s name for the third time, still to no response. To his surprise, the eyes he had been trying so hard to recreate on the paper before him were already looking at him. He felt his heart drop to his shoes and his face heat up until it was practically on fire, then quickly averted his gaze to the angry teacher leering over Draco. Ms. Umbridge said his name one more time, and Draco, without missing a beat, confidently explained the answer in-depth, and finished with a sarcastic burn that felt as if it scorched Harry.  
“And although it may not have seemed like I was listening, I was hanging on to your every word, Ms. Umbridge. Truly, I was. Absolutely riveting.” Draco’s words hung in the air for a moment as Ms. Umbridge realized what had been said. The class watched expectantly as her face swelled up like a large circus balloon, to the point where Harry nearly thought she was going to pop. She took a deep breath, which returned her face to normal, and pleasantly continued with the lesson right up until the bell rang, signaling the switch of classes.  
“Imagine the willpower it took to not strangle him right then and there,” Ron said, packing up his stuff to head to their next class.   
“Well, I- I mean, he’s not that-, he’s not that bad, I guess,” Harry stuttered. “I mean, he can be nice… sometimes,” he added hastily, recalling last December when he had fallen on the ice, accidentally scattering the contents of his backpack across the freezing sidewalk. Draco had stopped on his walk into the building and silently helped Harry gather his stuff and help him up off the ground. He reddened a little just thinking about it.  
“Examples?” Hermione said, smoothly joining their chat and walking beside them as they left the classroom. “Besides the infamous Potter-Malfoy ice incident last winter?” Harry silently cursed her for taking away his only instance of Draco actually having a soul.   
“I knew he couldn’t come up with another one!” Ron chortled. “You just idolize him because you’re so in love with him!” Harry turned defensive, even though Ron’s words rang true.  
“I am not in love with him! I barely even like him! He’s mean to me, why on Earth would I?” His voice trailed off as he realized he had practically been shouting and that the whole hallway was staring at him. One face, in particular, stood out, in fact, the exact face Harry had been saying he hated. He watched nervously as Draco pushed through the crowd, closer and closer until they were practically touching. Harry felt his heartbeat speed up until it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest and slap Draco across the face. Draco leaned in until Harry could feel his warm breath on his ear.  
“Scared, Potter?” Within a split second, Draco had spun him around so Harry's chest was against the lockers and his arms pinned behind his back, like a cop handcuffing a criminal. “So I hear… you hate me,” Draco murmured silkily. “Now, why would you hate me? I can’t think of any reason why…” Draco leaned closer until only Harry could hear him. “Could it be… no. Yes? The ice last December? That’s it, isn’t it?” He pulled away and released Harry’s arms. Harry felt the color in his face rise. All of a sudden, he heard a whack, a shatter, and the gasps of the surrounding crowd. A second later, he felt a dull ache spread out around his right eye. Looking down, he saw his glasses lying at his feet, broken cleanly across the bridge, shards of glass popped out of the right frame. He looked up just in time to see a clenched fist flying right at his nose.


	5. big spicy oof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SECOND TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> Draco's thoughts as he punches Harry.

~~~~~Draco~~~~~

 _I’m sorry_ , Draco thought as his fist slammed into Harry’s right eye. _I’m sorry_ , he thought as skin met skin. _I’m sorry_ , he thought as he heard the crunch of bone and cartilage. _I’m so sorry_ , he thought as the blood poured from Harry’s face.


	6. An Eerie Sort of Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> the f slur is said. (f*ggot)

~~~~~Harry~~~~~

The school nurse, Ms. Pomfrey, gave Harry an ice pack and some gauze and sternly told him to sit down in one of the rooms off the office and be quiet as to not “aggravate his injuries”. She was the type of stern that a mother was, wanting only the best for her hundreds of adopted children. Harry rolled his eyes, at least the one that wasn’t swollen shut, but complied. Ron and Hermione joined him, much to the chagrin of the nurse. He hoped that they wouldn’t ask about what Draco had said to him; he was already exhausted from mentally trying to explain to Mrs. Weasley what happened to his glasses. Harry took a deep, exasperated breath as Hermione opened her mouth.   
“Harry, this isn’t right, it’s been months and he’s still bullying you. You need to go to Principal Dumbledore,” Hermione whispered out of the side of her mouth, so the nurse wouldn’t hear their conversation. Harry opened his mouth in protest when Ron interjected.  
“Mate, as much as I hate to say this, she’s right. He’s never hit you before. Don’t you remember how the Dursleys made your life a living hell? That’s why you came to live with my family and me. You shouldn’t have to deal with that shit at school too.” Ron’s voice cracked and faded as he saw a blond boy standing outside the window in the hall. Harry turned around to see that face, that damn face that made his heart race and his palms sweat. The nurse passed their room on her way out of the office, and partially closed the door. His mouth dried out as he watched Draco enter the office, and say something about being summoned for a call to the secretary. The secretary nodded her head, said something Harry couldn’t quite make out, and handed Draco one of the clunky corded office phones. Draco’s already pale face grew ashen as the person on the other end fumed loudly. The voice, now clearly male, yet still murky, continued speaking about how Draco was a disgrace to the family name. As the voice went on, Draco looked as if he was being crushed by some unseen weight. Harry watched as Draco defensively mumbled something unintelligible, to which the voice spoke louder, colder, and strangely calmer; so loud that Harry felt as if the speaker was right next to him; so cold that he felt the chill sweep through the small infirmary room; so calm, he was almost at peace. It was a terrifying calm, the eerie calm before a devastating storm, the unnatural calm of a normally bustling place after everyone is gone.  
Harry's thoughts distracted him from the call that he so badly wanted to eavesdrop on. He brought himself back to reality and caught the tail end of Draco's phone call.  
"-no ‘son’ of mine is going to tarnish my reputation by being a goddamn faggot.” The phone on the other end was slammed down so harshly Harry thought it must’ve broken. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at each other with gaping mouths, eyes wide in shock.


	7. Forget About It

~~~~~Draco~~~~~

Draco's eyes watered as he listened to his father screeching at him through the phone. He tried his best to not let a single tear fall, to not show any signs of weakness. The secretary was a horrible gossip, he knew that much. Maybe not to the students, but to the rest of the staff, and they'd all come up to him and ask him if he was okay. Obviously, he wasn't. Draco was sick of lying.  
“How dare you destroy your family like this? You are an ungrateful brat, and I know I speak for both your mother and I when I say that you should never have been born. You can forget about going to Cambridge. Forget about coming home! All you’ve ever done is ruin our lives. Your whole life was planned out and you stupidly went and disrupted it. Malfoy men only marry women, and no ‘son’ of mine is going to tarnish my reputation by being a goddamn faggot.” His father slammed down the phone so loudly that Draco jumped where he stood. The dial tone rang cruelly in his ears, leaving him absolutely sure that those were the last words his father would ever say to him. He stiffly held out the phone to the secretary, and as she was too busy with whatever online quiz her friend had sent her, he dropped it. It hung off the desk, bouncing slightly, the irritating dial tone still audible. Draco didn't notice the tears streaming down his cheeks, nor did he notice how he autonomously wiped them away. Out of habit, he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had heard. His silver eyes met a single green one, and without wasting time, he raced out of the room.


	8. He Should Join the Track Team

~~~~~Harry~~~~~

The trio watched as Draco numbly let go of the phone, letting it slam into the desk, earning a nasty look from the secretary. Draco didn't seem to notice. It was as if his soul had left his body and he was but a shriveled husk of a boy, for that was what he looked like at that moment. Not a man, not even a teenager, but simply a small boy, wanting only a hug from his father. He blinked, and robotically wiped the two shining trails of tears off his cheeks with the back of his hand. As Draco turned to leave, he glanced around the office for some reason. Their eyes met through the small rectangular window in Harry’s door. Draco’s eyes widened and he sprinted out of the room.


	9. Strobe Lights and Blood

~~~~~Draco~~~~~

How much did they hear? How long were they there? What do they know? Draco’s thoughts were speeding in perfect time with his heart as he ran outside the building and got into the driver’s seat of his car. His head was pounding like a drum, strobe lights flashing in front of his eyes, his ears ringing like a phone from the fifties. He felt as if he would be greeted by the warm embrace of Death’s arms any second now, and he knew he would accept it. Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, he took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Panic attacks struck him occasionally, and he knew what to do, but in the midst of everything, he had forgotten. Slowly but surely, his heart began beating as normal again. Draco put the keys in the ignition but didn’t turn them, and was just about to when he saw a person in the side-view mirror. Trying not to get nervous, he watched as the person walked to the passenger door and knocked. Harry Potter. It was Harry Potter. Why did that damn boy show up everywhere he went? Why couldn’t he get away from him? Draco rolled his eyes and unlocked the door. Instantly, he wished he hadn't. Harry slid into the seat without saying a word, holding an ice pack to his nose and eye. A pang of guilt wracked Draco’s body. He internally reprimanded himself for feeling sorry for what he had done. He cringed a little, realizing how much he sounded like his father. Harry exhaled audibly through his mouth, and Draco sighed.  
“Where are the cronies at?” Draco scoffed, instantly regretting being the first one to speak.  
“I told them to go back to class,” Harry said nasally, due to his broken nose. A drop of blood fell from his nose and landed on his jeans. “Oh, shit,” he muttered, distracted. “Damn thing just stopped bleeding.” Draco didn’t want to waste time on Harry’s nose. All he wanted to do was get to the point.  
“Why are you here, Potter?” Draco said piercingly. He prayed that it wasn’t the reason he thought-  
“I heard your conversation with your dad.” -Damn.   
“And?”   
“Well, I wanted to make sure-”  
“Make sure of what? That, oh, the prized Malfoy boy is gay?” Draco simpered. “Well, you’re dead wrong.” The lie was bitter on his tongue, even though he hadn’t fully come to terms with it himself. “And maybe I don’t have a girlfriend, but I don’t need one to make me feel better about myself. I’ve got my whole life planned out. I’ll be out of this measly little city and into a Russell Group school straight after graduation, then to London as the head of a law firm. Succeeding in the professional world is much more important than ill-advised, hollow love and hugs and kissing-”  
“Is that why you’re crying?”

~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Russell Group is the UK version of Ivy League


	10. Memories

Draco couldn’t recall a time in his life when he had ever had a decent relationship with his father. All he had were memories of being kicked and punched and forced to sleep on the back deck with nothing more than a raggedy old towel to keep him warm. 

__ _ “Draco Lucius Malfoy, what on Earth do you think you’re doing?” A four-year-old Draco looked up. His father towered angrily over him.  _

__ _ “Drawing, Father.”  _

__ _ “On what?” spat Lucius, in that way that parents do when they already know what the child is doing but want to see if the child can fully comprehend whatever it is they may be doing. _

__ _ “Uh… The wall?” Draco looked down at his grubby little hands, covered in paint and ink and his mother’s makeup. “But it’s us,” he said, trying to redeem himself. “See, there’s you, and Mother, and me in the middle.” _

__ _ “You insufferable little brat! We just had these walls done! This’ll come out of your college fund, and you’ll regret it later!” Lucius stormed past Draco, purposely running into him and knocking him over as he left. _

__ _ Draco sat there, blinking, unsure of what to say or do. Realization set in, and he began to cry. _

  
  


__ _ “Look, Father, I made a sculpture!” Nine-year-old Draco proudly held a slightly lumpy clay statue of what appeared to be a cat.  _

__ _ “Mm, yes, very nice,” his father said without looking up from the newspaper. “Have you done your chores yet? It’s the maid’s day off, you know.” Draco’s shoulders sagged and his face fell. He set the statue on the fireplace’s mantle and went to do the dishes. Allowing himself to mentally check out, he fell into a monotonous rhythm. Pick up, scrub, rinse, set down. Pick up, scrub, rinse, set down. It wasn’t that Draco didn’t enjoy doing the dishes (which he didn’t); it was the way in which his father told him to do whatever chores needed doing, not unlike the way that extremely wealthy people will talk to working-class people, simply a mere object to get jobs done, not even human.  _

_ Deep inside himself, Draco hid a secret. Not the stereotypical kind of secrets a nine-year-old has, where their biggest secret is who they like, or that they found out Santa isn’t real. What Draco wanted more than anything, more than that ten-speed bike, even more than that remote-control helicopter, was his father’s approval. He wanted his father to look at him and be unconditionally proud. He wanted a hug, he wanted comfort in his darkest hours. He wanted love.  _

  
  


_ Fifteen-year-old Draco had given up. He was a straight-A student, the captain of the rugby team, tutored other students and volunteered in his spare time. His father couldn’t care less. In his heart of hearts, Draco knew it was an unattainable goal. And yet he tried. But he knew he would never be able to make his father proud. He was a blot on the Malfoy family tree, without a name, just a dark spot that people would ignore in centuries to come.  _

Draco was snapped back into the present by something touching his shoulder. He jerked his head up off the steering wheel (why was the wheel all wet?) and realized that it was Harry offering comfort. Harry was there for him. How could he not love him?


	11. **QUICK UPDATE**

howdy, y'all.

Apologies for the lack of updates on this story.

I've been out of the country for the past two weeks and my body is still readjusting to west coast time. School is starting up in a few days for me, but hopefully I'll be able to write more once I'm back on a schedule. 

-alexthewizard

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism and feedback are very much appreciated!
> 
> NOTE: This is still a work in progress!


End file.
